Fear

"I must not fear. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear's path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

—Frank Herbert

[I]f you understand fear—which can only take place when you come directly in contact with it...—then you do something; only then will you find that all fear ceases—we mean all fear, not fear of this kind or of that kind.

—J. Krishnamurti, The Book of Life

They say that it's not the pain that bothers us so much as the fear of the pain. But even then it's not so much the fear as the avoidance of the fear. For a minor example, I used to have a minor phobia about spiders. I would avoid them and stay as far away as possible. Then one day I sat down and just watched some spiders, and they were fascinating, and beautiful. Fine, I will react if one is crawling on me and I don't know how poisonous it is, but otherwise there is nothing to fear.

Before my grandma's funeral, I forgot to pack anything nice to wear, so I went out and found a black taiji tunic embroidered with yellow dragons. My mom freaked out. She was terrified that Grandma's hometown friends would start spreading gossip: "Did you hear what Hazel's granddaughter wore to her funeral?!?" I said, "Great! I'll be immortal." Mom wasn't amused, and she was under enough stress already that I agreed to a compromise (a black Chinese style shirt with a black dragon; apparently it was the bright yellow that was freaking her out). But it's rather ridiculous to allow this sort of fear to rule your life.

Sometimes fear is useful: it tells us it would be a bad idea to go play with the growling bear, for instance. But if it freezes us in place when we should be acting, then it is no longer useful. It's not so much about "facing" the fear but rather "accepting" it. Fine. I'm afraid of "X". I admit that, I explore that feeling, and then I decide if an action is required. Most times, I find that it wasn't "X" I was afraid of, but some idea associated with "X", and then the fear would vanish. And, interestingly, when I'm really in a situation where fear would make sense, I am usually too busy reacting to notice. I remember a few close shaves on the interstate where I had to do some very careful maneuvering. If it had gone badly, I and my passengers might have been killed. But I wasn't thinking of that. I wasn't thinking at all: I was responding. It was only after the fact that I realized how close it had come, and by that time there was no point in fear. It was done.

Who for Whom

(This is from Thomas Cleary's translation of the Lieh Tzu, included in Tales of Inner Meaning)

Once a man held a huge banquet with a thousand guests. When someone presented a gift of fish and fowl, the host said appreciatively, "Heaven is generous to the poeople indeed, planting cereals and creating fish and fowl for our use." The huge crowd of guests echoed this sentiment.

A youth about twelve years old, however, who had been sitting in the most remote corner of the banquet hall, now came foreward and said to the host, "It is not as you say, sir. All beings in the universe are living creatures on a par with us. No species is higher or lower in rank than another, it's just that they control each other by ifferences in their intelligence and power; they eat each other, but that does not mean they were produced for each other. People take what they can eat and eat it, but does that mean that heaven produced that for people? If so, then since mosquitoes bite skin and tigers and wolves eat flesh, does that not mean that heaven made humans for the mosquitoes and created flesh for tigers and wolves?"

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One point of major annoyance for me is modern society's assumption that humans are superior to all other creatures. Yes, we can do things that other creatures cannot. We can build machines that emulate much of what other creatures do. But there is so much we cannot do that is done everyday by some other creature without effort. And even those things that we can do are forced. They do not come of themselves, but only after great effort. A bird spreads its wings and flies when it is ready. We have to dig materials out of the earth, build factories, design and plan and plot... and we call ourselves clever and powerful for exerting massive effort to do something that a bird does without effort. *sighs*

In the Fog

Yesterday, my family and I drove back from Colorado, from my grandma's funeral. I had the last driving shift, and the sun had gone down. Sometime before we made it to the Wyoming/Idaho border, I encountered a thick patch of fog. Then it was gone. Then another patch, and another, each one seemingly thicker than the last. Finally, the whole world was swallowed up in fog. I slowed down enough that I would have at least three seconds to react to anything that came out of the fog. Sometimes this meant 40 mph, sometimes 55 mph, depending on the density of the fog. I had been tired before I started driving, and it would seem that dealing with the fog should increase that tiredness, but it didn't.

Instead, I felt fully alive and awake. I was fully in the moment. I had to be. I had to be ready to react to a slow car ahead of us, or an animal running out from the side. It seemed that the world shrank down to the foggy dome around us, and I was one with that world. In fact, this driving was easier than the driving I'd done in full, clear daylight. Fewer distractions, and more of a need for mindfulness. I admit to feeling relief when we hit the clear patches, but while I was in the fog, the fog was all there was.

I ran across a few appropriate phrases and ideas this morning.

From Thomas Cleary's translation of Vitality, Energy, and Spirit: "Able to reach the point where there is no enjoyment, [sages] find there is nothing they do not enjoy. Since there is nothing they do not enjoy, they reach the pinnacle of enjoyment." When I am in the moment, I enjoy nearly everything I do. When I am not, when I am thinking of all the other things I would rather be doing, then everything becomes miserable.

From Larry Rosenberg's Breath by Breath come the ideas of vittaka: bringing attention to an object with both energy and mindfulness, vicara: maintaining interest in the object, piti: enlivened energy or anticipation, and sukha: the pleasure of peace and calm. These are ideas that come from the Buddhist practice of vipassana meditation. The first thing I found of interest is that I have experienced all of these states at various times. First in yoga practice, later in taiji and meditation. But they all came into play as I drove through the fog. I had to focus on the road ahead of me, and keep all my senses alert for any change. When something did change, I felt excitement/anticipation/adrenaline, and used that to heighten my awareness. Then when I found that I could meet all the challenges, a sense of peace and rightness descended over me. I did not fight the fog. I accepted and embraced it, and in doing so, I was able to meet it.

Shattered

If there's a trigram in the I-Ching for "shattered," then it aptly describes most of my last week. On Monday, the front left window of my car literally shattered while I was on the interstate. On Thursday, I found that my arrow had indeed hit its mark, but had not had the hoped for effect. On Friday, my last surviving grandparent died. So I'm a bit confused right now, in that I'm "supposed" to be upset, or angry, or...something. Yet, in this moment, I am content. Happy, even. I'm not entirely sure why, but I suspect it has something to do with "living in the moment."

I can make myself become upset. I can go back in my mind to Friday morning. I had slept on the couch in Grandma's basement, and around 6:30 my mom came down and turned on the light. I was awake enough to mumble "Was that really necessary?" I'm not sure she heard me. "...I think she's gone..." was all she said. That woke me up. Grandma went off dialysis on Monday, and she'd been fading fast ever since. I went upstairs and slowly approached Grandma's room. She was still, frozen in time. One hand half-clutched the rail of the hospital bed they'd brought for her the day before. One toe stuck out between the bars. Her mouth was open...eyes closed. I didn't really need to check for a pulse, but I did. "She's cold," I said.

When I go back to that moment in my mind, I feel the pain. Yet as soon as I bring my mind away from that moment, the pain goes with it. When I go back to the moment when I learned what effect my arrow had, there is pain. Yet in this moment, there is only piece. The past is gone. Only this moment remains. And in this moment, my grandma no longer suffers. In this moment, there is no more waiting. In this moment, I am at peace.

And, in the human way of things, I feel an echo of guilt that I am not dwelling on the past, not wallowing in the pain. But it is only an echo, and is easy enough to recognize and ignore. And the window that shattered on Monday...it got replaced on Tuesday. No one can replace my grandma, of course, but eventually that empty place will fill again.

Reality

(Note: This post is Babylon 5 inspired. The Vorlons ask "Who are you?" The Shadows ask "What do you want?")

There was a time when most of my actions were dictated by what I thought I was "supposed" to do. I'm "supposed" to get upset over things. I'm "supposed" to try and fit in. I'm "supposed" to get good grades. I'm "supposed" to pick a hard major, because I got good grades. It wasn't until I burned myself out doing a double major in four years that I really figured out that I wasn't "supposed" to do anything. I was just "supposed" to be.

There's a danger in that realization, though: the danger of then doing nothing at all. But at the time, I had spent so much time on what I thought I was supposed to be doing that I had no clue what it was that I actually wanted. I think that was my very first meditational experience, sitting down in a quiet place and asking myself, "What do you want?" I had no clue. The usual things that people list, like money, a job, a family, meant nothing to me. I think I spent a year asking that question before I finally decided that since I didn't know what I wanted for me, I'd just start sending out positive thoughts to the rest of the world.

Eventually, I answered the question, "What do you want?" with "I want to be me." It was a good, satisfying answer that brought its own question: "Who am I?" In college, I had defined myself in terms of my mood and my major, largely. And in terms of what I wasn't. I wasn't a Methodist any more. I wasn't a high school student. After a while, I wasn't a teenager. I wasn't really interested in research (so why the devil was I majoring in physics? because I was "supposed" to). I didn't have much else when I started asking "Who am I?" again. The most useful answer to the question turns out to be "I am me." But at least I have some positives to add now. I am a Taoist. I am a taiji player. I am a teacher. I am a writer. But those are what I am, not who I am.

The thing is, it's impossible to be who you are while you're busy being someone else. And whenever you do what you're "supposed" to do, you are being someone else. You are living up to someone else's expectations, fulfilling someone else's dreams. I don't mean to suggest that people skip out on obligations to others, but that we honor those obligations because we want to, not because we are supposed to. And if we find we have obligations that we do not want to fulfill, perhaps it is time to start asking "Who am I?" and "What do I want?"

Thoughts on Freedom

(Note: I will try to update more often... I just needed time to think some things through.)

Without a rope, people bind themselves."

When based on compassion, this can be a good thing. Though I may feel anger at someone, I do not loose that anger. Though, at times, violent thoughts may arise, I do not act on them (except constructively, by finding some useful and productive way to express such thoughts). Such binding is internal, not external. I know that I could do something, but I do not care for the end results, so I do not.

When based on fear, or craving, the binding is harmful. It traps us. We get caught in a web of "ifs" and "maybes" and fear of the unknown stops us from acting. But the unknown is all around us. I could die on the way to work this morning. I could be hit by a meteor while I sleep, or come into contact with a rare poison, or be attacked by a dog. There are more things unknown than known, yet these insidious mental "what-ifs" trap us, prevent us from acting.

I recently broke free from such a trap, and loosed the arrow that I had held onto for so long that my arm had begun to shake. I do not know whether it has hit its mark yet, nor do I know what effect it will have when it does. Yet in loosing the arrow I have freed myself. Oh, the "what-ifs" still rise up in my mind, but it is easier to let them go now. It may have been a foolish thing to do, yet it needed to be done.

arrow now in flight—
free only in the falling—
frees me while I wait